


Snowdrifts

by daisyqiaolianmay (skinman)



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Academy Era, Christmas, Day 24, F/M, Flashbacks, Fluff, Philinda - Freeform, Philinda 24 Kisses, Snow, let them be happy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-24
Updated: 2015-12-24
Packaged: 2018-05-08 23:29:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,690
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5517146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skinman/pseuds/daisyqiaolianmay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Christmas is a time for nostalgia, and while Melinda May isn’t exactly one for that particular brand of sentimentality, there are some things that just can’t be forgotten.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Snowdrifts

Trying to heat an entire secret underground base during the cool depths of the heavy New England winter was pretty difficult. Coulson had Lincoln giving an extra boost to their generators. The way that kid could walk around in bare feet and nothing more than a t-shirt and shorts on a day like this was enviable, and Daisy was the only one allowed to latch onto him for warmth. Phil wasn’t exactly saying he wanted a hug from Lincoln, but under the circumstances he was open to the idea. Layers of clothes, sweater upon sweater would do the trick for most average humans, but for those that were really feeling the chill Daisy and Jemma had set up some small heaters in the rec room.

He could hear them all laughing, yelling jokes, teasing, telling embellished stories about the events of the year past. Not brave enough to announce their dreams for the year ahead, just revelling in the fact they were here, now, despite everything. They had made it, and that was something to be celebrated. Clinking glass and cheering called to him, but he walked by, he had somewhere else to be.

Phillip grew up in Wisconsin; he was no stranger to below-freezing temperatures, blocked doorways, and crisp, white snowdrifts. With snow came a simple form of nostalgia. He recalled red boots and pink cheeks, chasing his friends through the reformed, pure landscape of his neighbourhood, finding a strange satisfaction in his disruption of the fresh snow.

It was with this in mind that Phil climbed the stairs to the observation room, one of the few places on the base that allowed a view of the outside world, collecting a blanket to ward off the chilly conditions. He already knew before he turned that last corner that she would be there.

She didn’t acknowledge him. He was sure she was aware of him, bu she didn’t tell him to leave, so that meant she probably wanted him to stay.

There was an old, dark-wood table a few feet from the window, high enough that if you sat on it you could see over the snowdrift that had built up against the outside wall. It had been in the room ever since before the SSR had left, and no one had ever thought to move it. Phil wondered how many snowy winter’s it had seen. That’s where she was, with one foot tucked underneath her, she traced the frost on the glass with her gaze, committing the movements of the snowflakes catching and sliding on the outside panes to memory.

Wordlessly Phil moved to join her, carefully lifting himself into the space beside her. Coulson moistened his lips, eyes downcast as he deliberated his next move.

“Do you remember playing in the snow when you were a kid?” He began, looking up to observe her profile.

Strong and smooth in the lowering light, dying sunlight reflected eerily off the blank canvas of white outside, casting a glow onto her, onto them. The pale, graceful shadows of snowflakes playing across their features, tumbling across their skin, their clothes, and fluttering down the wall behind them where their own shadows were sat, still and dark.

Melinda met his eyes with her own, she didn’t answer, but he knew she was willing to listen.

“My friend, Bill, he broke his sled one year, so we took the wheels off some skateboards…” Phil smiled warmly at the memory. An ill-founded attempt at snowboarding.

The corner of Melinda’s mouth twitched upward, her deep, brown eyes glistening with an apparent adoration she couldn’t seem to hide.

“We weren’t very good.” Coulson concluded simply, shooting Melinda a sheepish smile.

The woman nodded, finding it easy to imagine. She turned back to the wintry scene outside, breathing deeply as she soaked it all in.

“I remember snow angels.” Melinda admitted, still looking ahead.

The thought of a small, cheerful, pink-nosed Melinda, all bundled up against the cold, lying on the blanket of snow outside her childhood home, tucking her arms in and pushing them out to make angels in the snow, brought a grin of admiration to Phil’s face that he tried to bite back.

“And snowball fights.” She said this with an accepting kind of sadness.

His expression of confusion at her curious tone drew her attention. Her eyes flickering from his raised eyebrows, to the dent between, to the parted nature of his lips. One tiny glance and he could see it all.

_‘Don’t! Don’t! No, Harry!’ A girl with long, dark curls zipped behind Phil as he himself ran for cover, followed closely by a rowdy and determined Cadet Harry Gordon._

_The boy had in one hand a newly packed and glistening snowball, on his face a mischievous expression. The pair kicked up snow as they sprinted across the training fields. The girl, Mila, was nimble, but Harry was long-legged and quick, which would work to his advantage in the deep snow._

_Phil bolted for the nearest cover he could find; a timber wall built for what Agent Dunbar called the ‘mud run’, an army-style obstacle course. The wall had been too big and heavy to store away during the snowfall. As he fell to his knees behind it another figure shot round the other side and collapsed beside him. Startled for a moment, he quickly realised who it was and relaxed._

_‘Oh my god, Melinda.’ Phil exclaimed breathily, collapsing against the wall._

_The girl was all but panting, eyes shining. She was in her element; a game with no rules expect that you had to throw ice at people as hard as you could. ‘You’re lagging, Phil.’ She told him._

_Before he could say a word she was off again, scooping a handful of snow up as she pulled herself off the ground and sped out from behind the timber wall. The girl bolted for Harry, who was now holding a wriggling Mila over his shoulder, and shoved the ice down the back of his neck._

_A high squeal rang out, and Phil could hear Felix and a few others laughing in the distance. Harry all but dropped Mila, arching his back at the cool touch of the ice sliding down his spine. Mila accepted May’s offered hand, brushing the flecks of white from her black pants as she was picked up off the ground._

_Taking his chance as the girls stopped moment to admire their good work; Harry still dancing around and complaining, Phil gathered a chunk of snow off the field and packed it closer in his bare, blue-tinged hands. He leant back with purpose, thrusting his arm forward to propel the snowball through the air, spinning gracefully, to smack neatly into the back of May’s head._

_The rest of the world seemed to pause as Melinda turned to regard him, a face of shock turning into a smirk as she spotted him and started to advance._

_‘You’re so dead Coulson!’ Felix yelled after him. The lethal nature of Cadet Melinda May was a well-known fact._

_Phil did what any other person might do in that situation… he ran away. He headed for the snowdrifts that had collected on the edges of the field, if he could just get past them he might be able to hide._

_The muffled, repeated thumps of May tailing him registered, and he failed to notice the icy patch up ahead where the snow had worn thin, leaving a frosted puddle. He hit it first, May a split second later as she grabbed for his jacket, both Cadets going spinning, landing, and tumbling over and down the opposite side of the snowdrift._

_Melinda’s chin jarred against Phil’s chest as they stopped rolling, jolting to a halt at the base of the snowdrift, she hissed. She was splayed out above him, her chest to his stomach, with her legs resting in-between his, but she was too distracted by the momentary, painful discomfort of her jaw to take note. The drift was high enough that their friends couldn’t see them._

_Phil swallowed, lifting his head to look down his chest at May as she rose. Snowflakes caught in her hair and eyelashes, blinking up at him._

_He simply looked at her like a deer in the headlights. Turning his head away instinctively, seeing her blue beanie abandoned on the ground beside them, he reached for it and brought it to them. She blinked at him again, still a little disorientated as he carefully pulled the hat back over her head, tucking loose, dark strands behind her ear._

_‘My neck’s cold now.’ She grumbled, giving him a severe glare, reminding him of his neat hit to the back of her head. She pushed up with her palms so she was hovering directly above him. Neither of them quite sure why they had yet to move from this position._

_Phil half grimaced, half smiled, ‘Sorry.’ He, without even thinking, rubbed his hands together, blew hot breath into them to warm them up, and then curled one round the back of May’s neck._

_May shivered at the sudden change of temperature, and the way Phil’s fingers met the dips in vertebrae of her spine with seemingly-practised hands._

_Melinda raised her own hand, resting her chest down against Phil’s, perfectly aware she was totally capable of holding herself up with only one hand. Ignoring the water soaking through the cuffs of her pants, she brushed along the skin under his eyes and along his cheekbone with the pad of her thumb. She’d always wondered if the skin there was rough or soft, and now she knew._

_‘You had… some snow.’ Melinda explained starchily, despite the dire look in her eyes._

_Phil didn’t do anything but stay almost completely still, lips parted, breathing tiny puffs of hot air that swirled and rose like steam._

_May’s gaze fell from his turbulent blue eyes to his lips. She’d never thought she’d be the one to make the first move. She’d disciplined herself, reminding herself that over-complicating one of the closest friendships she had in her life was, and would always be, a bad idea._

_She was pretty sure it was him who really closed the gap, rising onto his elbows, her hand falling from his jaw back to earth, palms pressed down in the snow, arms locked either side of his head. He wasn’t in a hurry, he brushed his lips along hers, drawing back ever so slightly but just enough that May feared he wouldn’t return, but he did. The hand that wasn’t already on her neck curved around her waist, pulling her closer, if that was even possible. Eyelids fluttering shut, she kissed the corner of his mouth, then met him in a firmer reunion._

_Stomach muscles straining he sat up slowly, taking her with him, so she was planted in his lap. Palms leaving the freezing ground, she brought them to the back of his head, teasing the short hair at the nape of his neck. Lips parting in sync May sighed into him as his hand left her now thoroughly warmed neck, and joined his other one at her waist. Sliding her right hand to his jaw, cupping it lightly, she drew back, breathing hard, the tip of his nose ghosting against the bridge of hers._

_‘Melinda…’ He started softly._

_She shook her head lightly, and drew him back in with her hand at his jaw, their mouths barely meeting again before the interruption._

_‘Phil!’ Harry’s voice jolted them from what seemed to be a kind of trance. Both could hear the steady footfall drawing closer. They scrambled, Melinda sliding off of Phil, stone-faced, as though she could pretend what had just occurred hadn’t really happened._

_Harry peered over the top of the snowdrift to see the two other cadets sprawled out on the ground, ridged as statues, ‘You good?’_

_Coulson nodded sharply. May didn’t answer, simply scowling up at Harry as she remembered that she was meant to be upset._

They’d got so good at pretending it didn’t happen, that they didn’t happen. They’d almost been able to believe that everything they had been was just ill-founded daydreams and misled emotions. Going on 30 years later and they’d never had a straight conversation about what had happened. They’d talked, about them, in a roundabout kind of way, a little… maybe they were fooling themselves?

“Snowball fights.” Phil murmured warmly, more to himself than May. “We used to have fun like that in our youth.” He huffed, a half-laugh, more out of nervousness that anything else. He never got to finish kissing her.

“I guess we grew up.” May rationalised.

“I guess.” Phil agreed, watching her out the corner of his eye. “But… don’t you miss it? Don’t you wish you could do it just one more time?” He wasn’t completely sure he was talking about the snowball fights anymore.

She turned, eyeing him critically, “You want to have a snowball fight?” She said dryly.

This time, just like it had been before, she knew. There was a tell-tale light behind his eyes. When he titled his head she knew what it meant; capturing his jaw in her hands as he leant over to her. Lips as gentle as she remembered, if a little rougher, a little more practised. Those somehow familiar sparks whispering down her spine no matter the time that had gone by.

“I’m so sorry.” Phil murmured against her lips, eyelids flittering, eyelashes brushing her cheekbone.

“Don’t.” Melinda warned him softly. She slid one hand round the back of his head and tugged him closer. Hands on her waist, she was taken back to that day in the snow, but now she could feel the heat of one palm through her sweater. One hand made of rubber and mechanics, it didn’t matter, it was all him.

Phil Coulson knew what it was to have your heart taken from you, literally, and he knew what it was to have your heart torn and broken, all very literally. And metaphorically. Phil Coulson loved easily, sometimes too easily, but loving someone and trusting them were two different things. He’d never trusted anyone as thoroughly as he trusted Melinda. Right then, in that moment, he had no qualms. He felt as though he could take his heart from his chest and place it in Melinda’s hands, and he’d have no worries, because if anyone could protect it then Melinda was that person.

It was she who pushed him back. At first he thought she was escaping but then she came with him. A patient hand at his chest, guiding him down till she hovered above him on the table top. Breath mingling, they were just as Phil remembered, with Melinda above him, almost glowing in the strange, pale light.

She clenched her jaw, running a thumb across his cheekbone, “I’m sorry too.”

He mounted himself on his elbows, using two fingers to tenderly push back the veil of hair that swung down to tickle his cheek and gather it behind her ear. She descended on him, her chest pressing insistently into his, his mouth covering hers. With lips parted Melinda skimmed his bottom lip with the tip of her tongue.

Phil’s chin trembled, he’d so nearly forgotten how good she was at this. His eager, tame hands slipping under the fabric of her sweater to stroke the bare, smooth skin at the base of her spine. He did as he had done all those years ago, rising into a sitting position, with Melinda in his lap, her hands gathered at the base of his scalp. The heat radiating off her, the faint smell of lavender detergent and spices from the Christmas treats she’d, somewhat reluctantly, helped Daisy make earlier, all so intoxicating.

The snow continued to passively drift down from the pale grey sky, casting their shadows, as Phil and Melinda resolved a kiss 30 years long, burdened with everything they hoped they’d one day have the courage to say. And this time, Phil was optimistic. He might have declared himself right then and there if his lips weren’t so otherwise occupied.


End file.
